FiReFLy
by Destined To Repeat
Summary: Edward’s mother had taught him many things, but out of all of them, only one lesson changed his life so completely: Fireflies are meant to be free.


~FiReFLy~

There are very few things Edward remembers from his past life…or, his only life, since his current existence could hardly be defined as living. He can only vaguely remember the times before Carlisle, before Alice, before _her_…but there are a few memories that remain interminable among them.

He remembers his mother—his headstrong, altruistic mother—and he remembers her eyes, burning bright green in her fevered face. He remembers her soft, musical voice whispering to him as even softer hands stroked his hair, a feeble smile gracing her lips.

He remembers, even more unclearly, the time before—before it hurt her to smile.

She had been so fiery and brash before the wave of influenza. She had been outspoken, truthful to the point of recklessness; the people of that time hadn't been as charitable with women's rights as they are now. Nevertheless, she was painfully honest, whether she was telling someone off or admiring them. And she always, _always_ told him exactly what he needed to hear, whether or not it was what he _wanted_ to hear.

He remembers when he was little, just four or five years old, and he was fascinated by the tiny, flickering pinpoints of starlight fluttering through the dark. It wasn't long before he tried to catch one, to try to capture a bit of that illusive radiance for himself.

He remembers bringing the firefly, safely confined in a glass jar, to his mother, and proudly holding it up for her to see.

He remembers her smile, which slowly turned to a thoughtful frown, her eyebrows drawing together.

"What's wrong?" he had asked, taken aback. Maybe she didn't like the glow he'd imprisoned?

She shook her head. Her eyes followed the insect as it wandered along the bottom of the jar. Its light was flickering more sluggishly than before. "I think you should let it go, Edward."

Edward had not been prepared for this. He clutched the jar closer to his chest, looking up at his mother with wide, pleading eyes. "Why? I want it!"

"But Edward…" A small grin has returned to her face. He wanted to make it bigger, to see her full, vibrant grin emerge because of him. "It isn't supposed to be in a jar. Fireflies are meant to be free, so they can light up the sky for all of us, not just you." She had poked him playfully, and he had giggled.

The giggling stopped when she tried to take the jar.

"No! This one's mine!"

She took her hand away, her expression thoughtful again.

"Edward, it needs air to live. How about we name it and then let it go? Then it can be free and still yours?"

"But if I let it go, someone else might take it!" Edward had replied earnestly. "It's so pretty…I want it to be mine…just mine."

The thoughtful look had gone, replaced by a slightly sad smile. "But Edward…if you keep it, it's going to die."

"It's not," he insisted, holding it still tighter. "I'll take real good care of it. I'll feed it and play with it and everything."

"Edward, please…please let it go. It's dying…can't you see it's not lighting up anymore? Let's let it go, okay? Wouldn't you rather it be alive and free than dead in your jar?"

He remembers that he hadn't known quite what to say to that. He didn't want to let his firefly go, he wanted it to glow only for him forever. But he didn't want to make his mother sad, either. He wanted the painful smile on her face to go away. He never, ever wanted to see it ever again.

As he hesitated, irresolutely considering his options, she reached over and opened the jar.

He remembers watching it flutter unsteadily out of the jar wobbling like the firefly equivalent of a drunken destitute straight out of prison. He remembers staring as the light slowed, then dimmed, then disappeared altogether. It didn't come back.

He remembers his mother watching beside him, with that same sad smile. And he remembers vowing that he would never do that again. He would never, not even if it caused him irremediable harm, release his firefly just a second too late.

But he never expected his promise to come into play in the way that it did. More than a hundred years later, he had found another firefly—but one of an entirely different nature. She was the only one he couldn't quite understand, and she was beautiful. And once again he wanted her all to himself.

He caught her for a while, watched her glow just for him, always knowing somewhere that eventually he would have to let her go.

And then, sooner than he'd ever expected, her light began to dim. He knew what he would have to do, and he knew he would do it. This time, he would not let his firefly's glow burn out. This time, she would live.

This time, he would release her before it was too late.

"_You…don't…want me?"_

"_No."_


End file.
